


wow cool title

by vbligs



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 17:36:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vbligs/pseuds/vbligs
Summary: catch me uhhh Hyperfixating on my girl???vdjdbshs





	wow cool title

The air tastes like sawdust, rot, and burnt tar. The air is hazy, her eyes blurred, dust caked on outer layers, set by congealed blood. Lipstick smudged, coating snarling teeth - she is the monster that she kills so easily.  
_"Son-of-a-bitch,"_  Anya hisses, pushing loose hair, matted with gore, out of her eyes, her free hand yanking a bone saw out of a corpse.  
She hopes its a corpse.  
Her voice is the only noise for miles, save for light groans of the, dare she say it, undead, and rare screams of the soon-to-join. She misses home, misses showers, misses her chickens.  
The things she took for granted.  
Now all she has is what she can carry and a sawed off shotgun, ammo shoved into pockets that crack as dried blood gives in to her force, jeans stuffed with herbs and shirt torn and loose.  
_"Welcome, Leon Kennedy - my ass,"_ She mumbles, reloading her shotgun as she tiptoes to the door.  
It was _supposed_  to be a special day, a good day - but no, the party she'd had planned for the rookie had been crasjed, quite literally, by flesh eating monsters she'd usually be mocking, if not for the fact they brought skinless, noise sensitive freaks with them.  
She misses her lab. She knew where everything was, knew how everything operated, hell she could vent out her frustrations on a cadaver, if she wanted. Now, the cadavers tried to eat her.  
_Fun._  
Anya pokes open the door, knife in her teeth and gun at the ready, doing a little head check as she scans the room. The dead things in here seem to want to stay that way, strange enough. First room in days where the dead stay dead.  
Crouching down, she pulls her knife from her teeth, prodding at one of the Lickers with the blade, grimacing as she notes the wounds.  
She's speaking in breaths of air, whispers of _"Nine milimeter to the tongue,"_ and _"Shotgun to the torso,"_ as she turns to the brain. If she can decipher it, maybe -  
Then there's a noise behind her, and she turns, ready to fight her way out, again - then she's blind, wincing at the artificial sun.  
_"Identify yourself!"_ Says the sun, trembling but strong, thouroughly fed up and shaken and sounding like how she feels.  
"Get that thing out of my eyes and shut it, would you?" Anya jabs a finger at the figure, deciding its a male voice, young at that. Not her boss then - she can offord to be mean.  
The figure complies, lowering the flashlight so that she can get a handle on the insensitive jerk who'd blinded her - and she nearly laughs when the spots clear from her retinas.  
Fate is cruel, that's for sure.  
She stands, bracing herself for the inevitable ache of muscles running on adrenaline for far too long, and cocks an eyebrow.  
Of course its _him,_  pretty blue eyes, pouty lips, a cleft chin and a jawline Archie would swoon over. Before fhe outbreak, she probably would've punched him for it. Goody two shoes rookie cop shows up one week too early and three days too late.  
Ironic.  
Before he can ask again, Anya raises a hand, pushing at too far gone lipstick as she responds, formal as always, "Anya Marconi, Raccoon City Police, Med. Examiner. You're the rookie, aren't you?"  
He's somewhere between shocked and grim acceptance at this point - poor kid. She misses Archie, he'd know what to say, what to do.  
"Leon Kennedy, yeah."  
She doesn't deem his response worthy of one of her own, inhaling as she stares him down. He's not onfected, that's for sure. And he's the rookie, so he's probably got that 'be a hero' spark. She can work with that - she can live with it too.  
It's ten minutes, or so she thinks, of silence before he clears his throat, uncomfortable, and proposes the idea of them working together, finding a way out of the city, out of the precinct for that matter.  
Faced with 50s propaganda poster boy and going it alone, she'll take the help any day.


End file.
